


Like Real People Do

by bitscrawford



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Cop Bellamy, F/M, Warlock Lincoln, Witch Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitscrawford/pseuds/bitscrawford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke’s had magic in her blood for as long as she can remember. Her best friend and roommate, Lincoln, is a warlock. </p><p>But magic is illegal and they have to do everything in their power to keep it a secret.<br/>They’re (mostly) doing a good job. </p><p>Until Bellamy Blake - one of Clarke’s best friends and, as it were, a cop - finds his way into the back of Clarke’s ambulance and his chances don't look good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "like real people do" by hozier.

Clarke’s never been so interested in C-SPAN in her entire life. A bunch of wealthy old white guys sitting around discussing issues that have never affected them usually makes her blood boil, but this is important.

They’re about to vote on whether or not they should legalize the use of magic. 

She’s had magic in her blood for as long as she can remember. When she was younger, she would use it to sneak extra cookies before dinner when Abby wasn’t looking, to climb the tallest trees without falling down, to prank Wells. Now, she mostly uses it for work and to make her friends’ lives a little bit easier. 

She and Lincoln keep a little herb garden on the windowsill of their apartment for the spells they often do together and their walls are covered in paintings Clarke has done of gods and goddesses, constellations - anything spiritual. She glances around the apartment and feels a burst of pride; they’ve done well making this place feel like home. 

Lincoln comes in from the kitchen carrying a bowl of cereal, sits on the couch next to her, and props his feet on the coffee table. Clarke fixes him with a look and he raises a hand in surrender, planting his feet firmly on the floor. 

She turns back to the TV and leans forward, elbows resting on her knees as she chews on her fingernails, foot tapping incessantly. 

“Calm down,” Lincoln murmurs, a hand reaching out to rub up and down her spine. 

“I can’t calm down,” she responds, looking back at him over her shoulder. “What if they vote to keep magic illegal?” 

Lincoln shrugs a shoulder. “Has that ever stopped us before?” The corners of his lips quirk upward the slightest bit and Clarke has to keep herself from mirroring his expression. 

“No, but.” She sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face. She’s stressed, and when Clarke is upset, things in the apartment tend to fall off shelves. Breakable things. Lincoln glances over at the vase full of white lilies on the table. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “I’m sick of hiding who I am.” Her voice comes out much softer than she’d intended and she frowns, tugging on a loose thread in her shirt. “I wanna tell our friends.” 

It’s a wonder none of them have noticed yet. 

Lincoln sighs, too. “I know.” She knows he’s thinking about Octavia. 

It’s not like their friends wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t be friends with them if they thought it would change anything about their relationship. All of them would accept Clarke and Lincoln and would most likely act as if nothing had changed. 

Outside of maybe asking for a quick little spell or some assistance in getting something off the top shelf from time to time, which is fine. Clarke usually does things for them without them having to ask - or know - anyway. 

But it’s a liability. 

If the government were to find out about Clarke and Lincoln’s abilities, about how they can move things with their mind and perform spells, about how they have to make sure Dante and Cage Wallace don’t do anything too fucked up with their powers? It would be a shit show. Clarke’s pretty sure they’d be sent away to prison somewhere, maybe even tested on. As much as she wouldn’t mind seeing that happen to Dante and Cage, she knows that she and Lincoln don’t deserve that. 

Just thinking about it makes her shudder. 

And they can’t put their friends at risk. Anyone caught harboring magical beings of any kind - witches, werewolves, vampires; the list is endless - can and will be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive. 

Clarke’s pretty sure Monty and Jasper wouldn’t survive prison. 

She’s snapped out of her reverie when Lincoln nudges her with his elbow, nods toward the screen. The vote is happening. 

Ten minutes later, she has tears in her eyes. The vase falls off the table and shatters, sending water and flowers all over the tile. Lincoln clenches his fists at his sides and she can hear a couple books fly off the shelf in the corner, knows it’s not her doing. 

They voted against legalizing the use of magic. 

They’re still criminals.

\-- 

Octavia and Raven are supposed to come over for dinner in an hour and Clarke doesn’t know if she should cancel.

She’s been sitting in a bubble bath for the last hour, trying her hardest not to cry. Any time the water gets too cold, she mumbles a quick incantation to make it hot again. She can’t help but glance over her shoulder every time she does it, knows she’s only gonna see the white tiled wall but is paranoid nonetheless. All she can hear is the sound of those politicians saying magic is an abomination, talking about how what they do is wrong and disgusting. About how she should be locked up. 

She sighs and submerges herself in the water, counts to thirty before coming up, and drains the tub. 

It’ll be good for them to be around their friends.

\-- 

Dinner is quiet.

Raven and Octavia can tell something’s up with them and she can tell Raven’s starting to get annoyed with their murmured _I’m fine_ ’s and the way they consistently change the subject. Octavia keeps talking to Lincoln in hushed tones across the table, but he shakes his head and she huffs, turning away from him. 

__They leave when they’re finished eating instead of staying for drinks._ _

__Clarke closes the door behind them and groans, knocking her forehead lightly against the wood. “That was horrible.”_ _

__Lincoln nods from his spot at the table._ _

__There’s a beat of silence - it’s awkward, which is unusual for them. Clarke turns and looks at Lincoln, tilting her head to the side. “What is it?”_ _

__He sighs. “I’m gonna tell Octavia.”_ _

__Clarke doesn’t have it in her to argue - they both know all the arguments anyway, have gone over them a thousand times. Instead she just nods, chewing on her bottom lip before she continues. “When?”_ _

__“Tomorrow.”_ _

__She sighs, running a hand through her hair and tugging slightly on the ends. “Let me know when it’s done.”_ _

__He nods._ _

__She goes to bed and dreams of a world where she can do magic openly, where her freedom isn’t threatened every time she opens her mouth to use a spell regardless of the good she’s trying to do._ _

____

\-- 

Lincoln comes home from work with a split lip. Clarke’s first instinct as an EMT is to assess the damage and look for further injuries, but he shakes his head and she moves to the kitchen instead, starts filling a baggie with some ice to keep the swelling down. “What happened?”

He sighs. “Octavia.”

Clarke frowns and looks at him over her shoulder. “She didn’t take it well?” Her heartbeat stutters for a moment. 

Lincoln considers his answer, chooses his words carefully. “She thought the warlock thing was badass,” he murmurs, gratefully taking the bag of ice and pressing it to his lip, wincing at the sting. “But she was pissed I kept it a secret for so long.” 

They teach a kickboxing class together twice a week for extra cash. Octavia had clearly been an enthusiastic sparring partner today. 

Clarke has to press her lips together to keep from smiling; that sounds just like Octavia. 

“She promised to keep it a secret,” he continues, looking Clarke in the eye. “Even from Bellamy and Raven.”

Clarke exhales hard, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she plops down on the couch. “All you had to do was tell her and she believed you?” Clarke’s never told anyone before, doesn’t really know how it works. Wells died before they could have that conversation and her parents had known since she was a baby. 

Lincoln looks uncomfortable and Clarke decides to chase that lead no matter what. “Not exactly.” He’s mumbling and heading to his bedroom. Clarke follows. 

“Not exactly?” she repeats, leaning against the doorframe and quirking an eyebrow. 

“I had to prove it.”

“How’d you manage that?”

He winces. “Does it matter?”

The fact that he’s so reluctant to tell her means she’s dying to know, so she nods. He stays quiet. “Y’know,” she starts, examining her cuticles and feigning nonchalance. “I could always use a truth spell to get it out of you.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “We promised we wouldn’t use our magic on each other when we moved in here,” he reminds her. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe her.

“Well, maybe I’ll use an amnesia spell afterwards so you don’t remember I did it.” 

His gaze hardens for a moment, but he just shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “You’re bluffing.” She is, but he doesn’t need to know that. She just shrugs and offers him a grin. He rolls his eyes and humors her. “I did a spell.”

“Obviously. Which one?” He mumbles his answer, but it’s too quiet for her to hear. “Come again?”

Keeping his gaze averted, he repeats himself, louder this time. “I made her favorite flowers bloom.” 

Lincoln looks like a tough guy with his muscles and his tattoos, but she knows he’s a huge marshmallow when it comes to Octavia. He’d do anything for her. “That’s adorable.” A smile is teasing at the corners of her mouth.

“Shut up.” 

She ducks when he flings his pillow at her, laughing as she retreats to her own bedroom.

\-- 

They tell Raven next. Octavia’s there, too.

Raven shrugs a shoulder and shoves another pizza roll in her mouth. 

“Does that mean you can get us free drinks at Grounders?”

Clarke just rolls her eyes and throws her arms around Raven’s shoulders, laughs as she mutters a tearful _thank you_ into the other girl’s neck.

\-- 

Clarke uses her magic at work more than she probably should. Lincoln constantly tells her that she’s gonna get caught if she doesn’t tone it down, but. When she’s standing in the back of an ambulance with someone who’s been seriously hurt, it would be wrong not to do everything she can to help. Even if that means doing spells under her breath.

It’s worst when it’s a child. 

But when Bellamy Blake finds his way into the back of her ambulance, everything changes. 

He’s still got his navy blue uniform on, his badge catching the light. He’s the only friend they haven’t told about the magic. Clarke wants him to know - they’ve known each other for years; she knows he wouldn’t think less of her - but his job makes that impossible. She refuses to make him choose between being a cop and being her friend. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

There are two bullets in his abdomen, blood pooling on the stretcher underneath him. She doesn’t give herself the luxury of a moment to a catch her breath, just slams the doors and tells Monty to rush to the nearest hospital. The sirens turn on and she lurches for a moment as he accelerates, immediately places an oxygen mask over Bellamy’s airways. 

She cuts off his shirt, puts gloves on, and begins applying pressure to the wounds, doing everything she can to stop the bleeding. It’s not working, though, and she can see his skin growing paler, feels his pulse getting weaker. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes, glancing toward the front of the ambulance. Monty knows about what she can do now, but he’s never seen it in action. Thankfully, he’s too busy navigating the crowded streets, weaving through stopped traffic and running red lights on their way to New York Methodist. 

Pulling her hands off his body and ripping off the gloves, she lets her palms hover over the bullet holes, her eyes closing. “C’mon, c’mon,” she whispers, exhaling slowly. If she screws this up, she could send one of the bullets straight into his heart and kill him. 

“You can’t leave like this, Bellamy. I won’t let you.” She feels the bullets slowly navigating their way back through the path they’d originally followed into his body, her hands shaking with the effort of it all. 

Bellamy regains consciousness, gasping and arching his back off the stretcher in pain. “I need you to stay still, Bellamy.” She’s yelling over his groans. Monty glances back, eyes going wide. 

Even wider eyes are staring at her from the stretcher though, his chest heaving as Bellamy takes in the sight of the bullets rising from his stomach and meeting her palms. She drops them immediately, barely paying attention to where they end up. 

She wants to say something, wants to address the look on his face that’s making something turn over in her stomach, but there’s no time - they’re at the hospital. Before she even really registers what’s happening, she’s helping Monty cart him into the emergency room. 

They give her the rest of the day off, but she doesn’t leave the hospital. 

She retreats to the waiting room, ignores the strange looks she gets when people see the blood on her shirt and her hands. There are phone calls that need to be made. 

Unlike in the ambulance, she lets herself crumble a little. Sitting in an uncomfortable chair in the corner, she bends at the waist, hides her face in her hands, and takes a shuddering breath, tears threatening to trickle down her cheeks. A concerned nurse asks her if she’s okay - if she needs medical treatment - and she forces herself to get it together, offers her a half-assed smile and explains why she’s covered in blood. 

Octavia hangs up on her and shows up in the waiting room five minutes later, cheeks flushed and hands shaking. “Is he okay?”

“I think so. They’re not telling me anything because I’m not family, but Monty and I were the first ones on the scene and I did everything I could.”

Octavia knows what she means; it’s obvious from the look on her face. The younger girl swallows hard before shoving her arms around Clarke’s neck. “Thank you,” she whispers, breath almost as hot as the tears that fall on her neck. 

Clarke nods, wraps her arms around Octavia’s waist, and squeezes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

\-- 

The doctors have no idea how to explain what happened to Bellamy. The two gunshot wounds were obvious, of course. But there were no exit wounds, no sign of bullets in his body - every X-ray showed a clear lack of metal anywhere in his abdomen. They kept him in-patient for a few days for observation purposes.

Clarke is at the hospital for those first couple days more than she ever is when she’s actually working. The waiting room becomes her new home - the receptionists start bringing her coffee when they come back from their breaks without her even having to ask. 

But every time visiting hours come around, she stays back while everyone else goes in to see him. Lincoln keeps her updated on his progress. Octavia thinks her reluctance is an undeniable sign of stupidity, but she doesn’t get it - she hadn’t seen the way Bellamy had looked at her after she’d used her magic on him. 

Truth be told, Clarke is terrified. 

Her relationship with Bellamy has always been strange. Nobody else really understands it. At first glance, everyone assumes they hate each other. Whenever they’re in the same room, it’s constant bickering and arguing. But most people miss the fond little grins afterward, the way they gravitate toward each other, the murmured words that some might even classify as flirting. 

She doesn’t want any of that to change. 

Lincoln’s the one who finally convinces her to go in. 

She hovers just inside the room he has all to himself. It’s impossible to keep her eyes off of him. His hair is messy, curls splayed across his forehead and sticking up at odd angles. He’s clearly just woken up. His eyes are a little bleary, but his smile comes easy. There’s more color in his face now than there was in the ambulance - _thank God_ \- and he’s got one of those annoying paper gowns on. 

Raven spots her and nudges Octavia, who quickly ushers everyone else out of the room. Clarke opens her mouth to speak, but the younger girl cuts her off. “You two need to talk.”

Clarke sighs, but makes her way over to the bed - as much as she hates it, she knows Octavia is right. Bellamy sits up, wincing and hissing at the pain. She may have taken the bullets out and saved his life, but she didn’t heal the wounds left behind. 

“Hi,” she breathes. She’s still a couple feet away from the bed, wringing her hands. 

Bellamy turns his head to look at her, an adorable little crinkle stuck between his eyebrows. “Do you trust me?”

She nods without any hesitation. It’s the easiest question she’s ever had to answer. “Completely.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Her mouth goes dry and it takes serious effort to swallow. “I don’t - what are you talking about?” She laughs a little nervously, looking anywhere but at Bellamy. 

She can see the way he shakes his head in her peripheral vision and she knows him well enough to know that he’s rolling his eyes. He’s not fazed, though. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a witch.”

Her eyes go comically wide and she rushes to the side of his bed, shushing him as she covers his mouth with the palm of her hand. “You’re crazy.” She knows she’s not convincing anyone, but it feels like the right thing to say anyway. 

He quirks an eyebrow and she feels the way his tongue darts out against her palm. She wrenches her hand back and flexes her fingers at her side. “I saw you,” he explains, eyes trained on her face. He looks relaxed at first glance, but she can read the tension in his body, the hard stance of his shoulders and the way his jaw clenches every so often. “Your hands…. the bullets…. I saw all of it.”

She swallows hard. “You lost a lot of blood,” she attempts, utterly unconvincing. “You were delirious.”

He shakes his head. “No.” 

“I didn’t - ” Clarke struggles to find the right words. Bellamy just waits. “I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position.” He furrows his brow, but she continues before he can interject. “What I am - what I _do_ \- is illegal,” she explains. 

His shoulders relax and he shuffles over on the bed, reaches for her. She lifts the thin hospital blanket and slides in next to him, careful not to bump him as she shifts onto her side and rests her head in her hand. 

“I would never arrest you for being who you are.”

“I know.” She nods. “That’s the problem. If anyone found out that you knew, you could get in trouble.”

“I don’t care.”

She frowns. “You should care.” He chuckles, but immediately gasps, a hand finding his side as he winces. “It still hurts.” It’s not a question.

“Like a bitch,” he agrees. 

She sits up a little bit in bed, the blanket falling off the both of them, pooling at their waists. “I can help with that if you want.” 

He looks curious. “How?”

She glances over her shoulder before speaking, leaning in and murmuring close to his ear: “A witch never reveals her secrets.” 

The corners of his mouth twist into a smirk and he nods. “By all means, be my guest.” 

She reaches for the hospital gown and motions for him to lean forward. He clenches his jaw when she does - it hurts, but he doesn’t want her to know just how badly. “Sorry,” she murmurs, untying the gown and pulling it out of the way so she can see the bandages. “Ready?” 

His eyes are already trained on her when she glances up at him. The look on his face is one she’s seen a few times over the years, but that she’s never been quite able to figure out. She knows she likes it, though, feels her cheeks go red of their own volition. He nods and she focuses on the spell. 

She gingerly places her palms over the wounds, murmurs another apology when he flinches at her touch. Closing her eyes - it’s easier to focus when she’s not thinking about the fact that the warm skin under her hands is Bellamy’s - she says the spell. 

Pain doesn’t just disappear. She rarely uses this spell for good reason. The pain she takes from Bellamy has him relaxing, sinking into the bed with relief. 

But it finds a new host: Clarke. 

She holds her breath, eyes squeezed shut and hands shaking as she takes all that she can. When she’s finished, she collapses back onto the bed, brow furrowed and jaw clenched as she tries to stay quiet. It’s the worst pain she’s ever felt, though, and a groan falls from her lips without permission, jerking Bellamy out of his peaceful reverie. Things are falling off of shelves all around the room; one of those generic hospital paintings falls off the wall, the frame shattering. 

“Clarke? Clarke!” He reaches for her hand and squeezes it. Her back is arching off the bed the slightest bit, but she just breathes through it, shaking her head when he tries to ask her what’s happening. 

“I’m fine. It’s fine. Just - gimme a minute.” 

He holds her hand and brushes her hair off her sweaty forehead, tucking it behind her ear. It takes a moment before it starts to dissipate. She feels more relaxed than she has in ages at that exact moment, but she knows she’s gonna be sore as hell for a couple days. Just like after a good workout. 

“What was that?” he murmurs, worry coloring his expression. 

Her head lolls to the side and she looks at him, eyelids heavy. All she wants is a short little nap, but. She jolts awake, remembering where she is. Sleeping in Bellamy’s hospital bed isn’t the best idea. Even so, she inches a little closer to him. “I took some of your pain away.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I didn’t know that it would hurt you.”

“I know.” She grins lazily at him. 

He looks at her fondly. “I wouldn’t have let you do that if I’d known.”

She laughs a little bit. “I know.” The corners of his lips turn up into a grin and he wraps his arm around her, tucks her into his side and toys with her hair. She rests her chin on his chest and looks up at him, fingers reaching up to brush the curls out of his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she breaths, suddenly serious. She’d been so close to losing him. 

It’s made her realize some things over the last few days. 

“You and me both.” She rolls her eyes and he grins. 

Taking a deep breath, she sits up. He frowns at the loss of contact, but she has to do this. 

It feels like the right time. 

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, eyes focused on his mouth. It’s such a pretty mouth. His full bottom lip and that cupid’s bow - she’s wanted to kiss him since she was in high school. “Bellamy,” she murmurs, voice low and rough. 

“Clarke.” His has dipped into a lower register and she shivers. That’s really all it takes. 

She leans over him the slightest bit, brushes her lips against his. His hand finds her hip and squeezes, deepening the kiss. He’s eager for more and quickly licks along the seam of her lips. He groans when she grants him access. He tastes like cherry Jell-O. 

They make out for a while and she’s just about to swing her leg over his waist and straddle him - privacy be damned - when someone clears their throat. 

Bellamy huffs when she pulls away, but the nurse is looking at them like they’re fumbling teenagers and she’s her disapproving mother who’s just caught her making out on the couch. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” she promises, kissing the corner of his mouth and squeezing his hand as she climbs out of bed. She’s a little bit woozy and her legs are sore, but it’s manageable. Get some sugar in her and she’ll be fine. Lincoln knows how to take care of her when this happens.

She’s almost out the door when he calls her name. Glancing at the nurse, she looks over at him, openly grinning. “Yes, Bellamy?”

He’s smirking when he tells her he gets discharged in two days and that he wants her to be the one to take him home. The way his eyes rake over her body, memorizing her from head to toe, has blood rushing to her cheeks, flushing her pale skin a striking shade of red. She knows exactly what he means. She’s pretty sure the nurse does, too.

She promises him she’ll pick him up, but tells him that he’s the one who has to tell Octavia. 

When she sees him the next day, he introduces her to his new nurse as his girlfriend. 

She doesn’t correct him and Octavia cheers, offering her a thumbs up when Bellamy’s not looking. 

Lincoln teases her - _that was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen_ \- the whole way home.

**Author's Note:**

> i've never written a supernatural au before, so i hope this is alright. my love for modern witches convinced me to give this a shot.
> 
> come find me on tumblr @ boobmorleys~
> 
> comments & kudos give me life!


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